Strategisto
by Tiamat's Child
Summary: Just a simple game of Chess...


Title: Strategisto

Series: X

Author: Tiamat's Child

Rating: PG

Genre: Drama/Romance

Characters/Pairing: Arashi/Sorata

Disclaimer: Hmmm...No, X isn't public domain yet. It still belongs to Clamp. Only about fifty more years though...

Summary: Just a simple game of Chess...

Challenge rules: The fic must be based around a board game (Monopoly, checkers, parcheesi, Candyland, Life, etc). It's open to any CLAMP series, and any genre. Being that the story has to do with a board game, there must be at least two characters, which means interaction and dialogue. ^_~ 

There's one catch: if you write an X fic, it cannot be Seishirou/Subaru. 

apapazukamori

Strategisto

Tiamat's Child

"Check." I watch Sorata's hand as he carefully picks up his knight and moves it into position. How did that happen? He's never managed to get me in check before. Of course, prior to this I've always paid very close attention to the game.

I don't understand how I let myself get so distracted this time. It's probably the late hour. I can never quite think straight when I'm tired. My mind tends to wander.

It is awfully late. I'm not entirely sure how I got talked into staying up. Did Sorata even have to try to convince me? I can't recall, the memory keeps floating just out of reach, like a soap bubble on a pond. The more I try to catch it the further away it seems to get. Why does it seem that like we've always been playing a chess game? 

The game. I'm still in check. I'll have to do something about that.

I flick my eyes across the board, looking for that one weak spot in Sorata's strategy. It's sure to be there. His basic mode of thought is not one of military strategy. Oh, he's good at it, especially when he's in a one on one fight, but it is not a part of him the way it is a part of me.

This time there is nothing that immediately catches my eye as a flaw. I can feel my eyes narrow a trifle. That can't be right. Sorata always leaves a hole somewhere. I've never played a game with him where he didn't. It's simply not possible that he's won. I just have to keep looking. There'll be something I can use.

My hand moves toward the board, almost as if of its own violation. It hovers over the pieces, testing for useful moves I could take. I find myself examining my hand with a dispassion I would usually expect if it were on someone else's arm. 

I have small hands, pale and long fingered. The strength in them is not obvious, being as it is hidden a veil of delicacy. Neither have much in the way of nails. I attempted to grow them out when I was younger, but they kept breaking and getting in the way, so now I keep them trimmed neat and short. Both have calluses on them. Warrior's calluses, that tell anyone who cares to look that I have been trained to the sword since I was a small child. 

My hands are nothing like Sorata's.

His hands are large and broad, and the same golden-brown as the rest of his body. They have calluses as well, but not ones like mine. His calluses are the sort garnered from normal work, from the sort of physical labor that always needs doing. Weeding and sweeping and hoeing, ancient chores that someone must do day in and day out. 

His hands are strong, and yet it seems to me that they promise gentleness. I wonder... I quash the rest of that thought before my brain can complete it, and determinedly ignore the flash of image that goes with it. Firmly, I turn back to the game.

I can't find a way out of this. He has me thoroughly fenced in, and there is nothing I can do to break the lock. My hand flutters nervously across the board, coming to rest on this piece, that piece, only to be lifted again after split moments of time. I do not want to admit that he has caught me. 

His hands gently take hold of mine, stilling its restless, futile motion. My eyes snap to his, surprised. He smiles, and his callused thumbs trace soothing circles on the back of my hand. I stare into those dark eyes, like a maiden held by the dragon's unknowable gaze. 

"Check." He says again. "And Mate."

Oh yes, I am well and truly caught.


End file.
